


Challenge

by vaultbug



Series: nail and shield [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Banter, M/M, Sparring, tiso gets beat up that's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22588525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultbug/pseuds/vaultbug
Summary: The bug didn't talk like a fighter; but Tiso glanced down at the nail clutched steadily between fingers. Perhaps then, the bug wore three masks; two of physical white and one that was his casual facade. To hide a warrior.To hide a challenge, something greedily smiled inside him."Are you sure you'll keep up?"Quirrel paused. "Are we to fight, or shall we continue talking?"
Relationships: Quirrel & Tiso (Hollow Knight), Quirrel/Tiso (Hollow Knight)
Series: nail and shield [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641145
Comments: 13
Kudos: 179





	Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> commission from @wishuponacrane.

He had pissed the other bug off.

Tiso knew himself well. He was a fighter. Warrior spirit, born to claw and bite at other bugs until they fell beneath his hands. Since he was a runt he had been fighting, kicking and screaming at his other nestlings. Mother used to say his soul was too large for his body, that the gods gifted him words of spirit but not a husk to hold them up. She was wrong of course. Training had made him strong and soon the coliseum would see that.

But there was one thing he was also good at and that was worming his way beneath other bugs’ chassis. He was not immune to recognizing how he annoyed others with his ferocity. They could not keep up and blanched at his words. Most avoided him, recognizing his worth. Bravado made him strong and others knew it.

Some, however.

He glanced to Quirrel, past to the shifting waters of Blue Lake. 

Some got pissed off. 

“Those are fighting words,” the bug noted eventually. Somber was his tone and the bug almost seemed downcast at Tiso’s disinterest in the flowing waters. Two fingers twitched on his nail and Tiso thought, _finally_. He might actually have a chance to test the bug’s skills for once. “Do you ever slow down, hooded one?”

“The husk of a real warrior needs to breach the limits of their mind.”

“The husk requires substance in order to learn,” Quirrel spoke back and it _was_ irritated. Tiso felt a rise of glee in his chest, popping in excitement as the bug turned to him. “Do you ever rest? Ever let your body rest, take in the nature around you?”

“Serenity is a _bore_ ,” he shot back and took his stance. Sand sprayed into the lake, muddying its tranquility. 

The shoulders of the bug slumped; then, to Tiso’s delight, those fingers on his nail began tapping back and forth impatiently. Quirrel looked away back to the flat lake, ripples from sand shivering through its blue surface. He could not tell the expression but from what he gathered, annoyance had become swift irritation. “You want to fight,” the pill bug said bitterly. 

“You carry a fine weapon for a dull old bug,” Tiso smirked back. “Can you use it?”

The bug sighed, a deep exhale. Then swift he span the nail to his other hand and clutched it behind his back. _Shnck_ warned the blade and he could already taste how it would hum through the air. Excitement became a fever. Drawing a foot back through the sand, Quirrel finally looked up and acknowledged him. “I avoid fights,” the bug told him.

Which didn’t sound like a fighter, but Tiso glanced down at the nail clutched steadily between fingers. Perhaps then, the bug wore three masks; two of physical white and one of quiet that was his casual facade. To hide a warrior, to hide the fighting spirit inside. 

_To hide a challenge_ , something greedily smiled inside him.

He chuckled. "Then are you sure you'll keep up?"

Quirrel paused. "Are we to fight, or shall we continue talking?" His voice, tired as it was, sounded sly.

Enough talk. Tiso threw the shield.

That was a mistake, of course. There was a flurry of sand; and Quirrel was gone, and Tiso wretched himself to the side and ducked right as a nail swept through where he stood. The shield swung back around and he grabbed it just in time to avoid the nail once more; together they skidded back in sand, Quirrel’s weight heavy in his arms. 

He was close. That was something Tiso did not expect from the bug; his nail was large and he’d expect the combat to be distance fighting, a challenge for Tiso to close the gap. Yet Quirrel was right in his face, steadily advancing and he could do nothing but relent ground as the nail hit over and over. It connected with his shield right above where Quirrel’s fingers clutched. _One, two three_ beat the nail on shell, and he almost felt the heat of the bug from how close Quirrel was. _One, two, three._

A slash. The nail hit the shield wrong. A pause, a readjustment. Tiso saw advantage and went for the legs. Quirrel darted back; the nail weaved songs through the air and whistled. Two feints. Together, a dance then. Stay steady, he thought and did not flinch as Quirrel feinted again and pressed closer. 

So focused he was on the nail he did not notice the hand until it was too late. Steady, it yanked him closer, gripping his arms to plunge the nail closer. Tiso bashed the shield into Quirrel’s face, missed but heard the briefest of chuckles. Lingering warmth of fingers remained on his shoulder as he span around and followed the bug’s retreat. 

“You’re quiet now,” the bug murmured and swatted away his shield with the flat of his nail. Delight lilted his words. “Is something the matter?”

“ _No_ ,” Tiso tried to shoot back, but it was hard to talk and defend at the same time. On the next blow he nearly slipped -- then angrily he ripped himself out of the sand with flustered intent, lashing out with open fingers. Again the bug vanished in grains of fluttering sand and Tiso turned around just to deflect the nail from skewering him. The jolt sent whitehot tremors up his arms. _Huh,_ he thought wildly.

“Mm,” Quirrel hummed and swiped; this stroke took them both across the sand, Tiso feeling himself slide until the canyon’s walls brushed his back. Then, angrily he punched, pushed the bug away (light contact, Quirrel had already darted back) and exhaled a harsh breath. 

He did not squeak when he looked back up to see the nail coming towards him. He rolled to the side; in each sweep it wrote a line in the wall, until Quirrel had carved marks into the limerock. His strokes were lazy. 

Tiso could not think. Movements were too fast, too heavy. Something tugged at his chest that the bug was toying with him, testing him but that thought too, was slashed away by the bite of Quirrel's blade. Do not slip. Take account of surroundings. Watch his nail, watch his hands, watch _him,_ his mind chanted feverishly. 

And all the while, Quirrel _talked_. 

"Good," laughed the bug as Tiso deflected a rather low blow and suddenly he was faster -- nail spinning. "Good, good. Not too shabby. Neatly done."

(praises? _was he praising him?_ )

His arms were heavy. Tiso tried a sweep, just to stall that nail. Quirrel only ducked back to slash harder. The canyon wall slammed against his back and nearly stunned him. 

When he could breathe, he swore. "You're getting into this," he cursed back.

Quirrel paused. Then came a light chuckle, slightly sinister in tone. Against his shield Tiso felt it through his entire body and something _hot_ swelled in his chest. "Forgive me my enthusiasm," the bug said delicately, as if he wasn't grinding the entirety of his blade into Tiso's shield. "I find myself - _ah,_ find myself too tempted by the warrior's bane."

"Which is?"

"You delight me," Quirrel said. "I have not sparred since I left for Hollownest. I find losing myself to battle is difficult now."

"Too hard to fight?" He jeered even though his arms ached holding Quirrel's nail back.

"Each fight has been one to the death," Quirrel mused. "Perhaps at first there was a thrill, but it has long been extinguished." He swiped up and Tiso felt the nail split air, so close it was to his cheek. It did not touch him. The control and mastery of the nail was apparent. “Life is precious. I do not want to waste the small thrills in it to relentless bloodlust.”

"There is fun fighting for your life, proving your worth in every stroke.”

“There is no fun,” Quirrel said back. The laughter had faded now and the strokes came a bit harder, as if the words were annoying him. “Only fear. Bugs use it as ways to prove their worth and valor, but when they fall, what have they gained?” 

“They gained the respect of the arena.”

“They’ve gained nothing but a chip in a wall full of thousands of dead names before them.”

Tiso snarled and pushed back from against the wall. “And that is why you will never have a warrior's spirit," he spat.

Quirrel paused. The somber tone came back. "What are you trying to prove?" The bug asked and it was saddened.

Which pissed him off. Tiso flushed. "I prove _nothing_ ," he snarled back and spun his shield. Shell sides unlocked and Quirrel hummed in surprise as one jagged edge caught the side of his nail. _Aha,_ Tiso thought and yanked it down. Sand sprayed up and right.

He did not pause to allow Quirrel a break. Now it was his turn to attack. He rushed forward to grab the bug.

Quirrel kicked him back. He wasn't expecting that. The sand under him shifted and he felt his stance slide; then he was on his back, water lapping around his antennas. Dizzy he watched Quirrel yank his nail back out of the sand and examined it. Then, with another hum he knelt over Tiso's sprawled form. 

“Must I beat you to rest?” The bug asked.

He glared up to the other. The bug barely looked to have broken into a true sweat yet he was breathing hard. Tiso took that gratefully as a sign. "I am not resting," he denied despite not moving from the ground.

"Yet you lie on the ground unmoving."

"It is called a _tactical recovery,_ " Tiso swore back. 

“Even if you attach sly words in front of it, recovery is still rest.”

“Your words of --” _devious, lying, warm,_ “Trickery will not affect me.” Tiso huffed back. “Just -- let me --”

“Rest?”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Tiso responded and weakly brought both hands up to drag Quirrel down.

That was another mistake. Instead Quirrel leaned past his trembling hands to seize him by the hood and Tiso froze up. “This is where you would die,” he said somberly. Tiso could not see anything else than his mask, white shadowed by the mask he wore over his head. He struggled against the hand and faintly Tiso noted how easy it would be to shove his head underwater and _hold_. “You are disarmed. I have you pinned down. What shall you do then?”

“ _Get off,_ ” he breathed.

Quirrel did not. It was not sadistic in its nature but the bug clearly had no idea what this was doing to him. Fever split across his husk in waves and Tiso tried an inhale, sand digging into his palms. “And still you fight,” the bug remarked as he thrashed against his body and dug his heels into the ground, trying to rip for any leverage he could grab. “You are strong but of spirit, not body. You seek the coliseum, do you not?”

He lurched upwards, ready with his fists. Yet Quirrel was prepared and one hand shot out to deflect both and the other grabbed his hood and pushed back. The water overwhelmed his face. Tiso felt the scream emerge in his chest and violently, he twisted. The grip faltered. He yanked Quirrel back with him.

They fell into the lake.

For a second, all there was was blue. 

Then something tugged and he broke surface, gasping and kicking as he grabbed for the sand. Quirrel was on top of him and they laid there for a second, gasping into each other. He did not recognize how close the bug was. All he could think was _water, could’ve drowned_ . Then the proximity set in and the thoughts became _oh my god he’s literally plastered to me_.

“Ah,” Quirrel murmured and Tiso could feel him against his front, crushing him against the sand. To his horror he realized what he was gripping was indeed the bugs’ legs and embarrassment popped in his chest like a grub. “Now _that_ was unexpected.”

He could breathe now, and he gasped unsteadily, “You soaked _me!”_ he protested, angry. Ignore the legs. Ignore how every time Quirrel shifted he could feel it like a spike of heat through his chitin. 

"You pulled us both in," Quirrel deadpanned although his voice was light and his hands were addressing the sand on his own shell. Leaning back -- ah, and there was weight on Tiso’s legs now, his mind helpfully provided -- the bug began to swipe the sand off his arms. “That was a cheap tactic. I doubt suicide will get you a respected name in the coliseum.”

“You soaked me!" He bellowed back, even more infuriated. "Look at me! I’m a mess!"

“On the contrary, I think you needed it.” 

“What?!”

“Well, now you have to rest and recover.” Quirrel noted. He _was_ smug, the prick and Tiso felt himself swell in outrage. “So perhaps this spar was beneficial to you.”

“Why --!”

Before he could summon all his strength into strangling the bug, Quirrel patted the side of his shell and slowly got to his feet. The weight was removed and a traitorous part of Tiso lamented the loss. “Thank you,” the bug said and held out his hand for Tiso to pull himself up with. “I enjoyed that.” Then, a pause. The bug considered his next words. “Perhaps next time…?”

The words trailed off, awaiting his response. Tiso paused. It had been fun, he begrudgingly thought. The bug wasn’t half bad and a part of him was sated underneath his outrage. Exhaling he glared up at the bug, but Quirrel did not drop his hand. The pill bug even looked expectant that Tiso would take it.

Fine.

He took the hand and tried to force his heart to stop racing. “Next time I’ll get you,” he challenged.

Quirrel laughed lightly. “You can try,” the bug accepted and this time, Tiso’s heart did leap.

**Author's Note:**

> crane if you're reading this you have a thing for sparring and im laughing


End file.
